


Bewitched & Beguiled

by Anonymous



Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies), The Beguiled (2017)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Historical, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Credence Barebone Deserves Better, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Dom/sub Undertones, Dubious Consent, Emotionally Repressed, Feminization, Forced Orgasm, Forced blowjobs, Kissing, M/M, Master/Pet, Masturbation, Not Safe Sane and Consensual, Rape/Non-con Elements, Religious Conflict, Rough Sex, Watersports, graves shushing from 0-60, oopsy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-01
Updated: 2017-05-01
Packaged: 2018-10-26 02:34:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,848
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10777662
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: Credence is the only boy in an all girls boarding school, deep in the heart of the South.When a very handsome Union soldier is found on the edge of the apple orchards, his entire world is turned upside down.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> hey look its my beguiled AU FINALLY lmaooo.
> 
> gently beta-ed by Kamikazesoundsociety

Credence stared, and tried to remember how to breathe.

He’d been sent out to muck the stables, and then wandered off, following the path to the orchard, and leaning against an apple tree was a _man_. He hadn’t seen another man, well, ever. He’d been the only boy allowed to stay in the all girls school, with the promise that he would do his best to act like a man of God and control his unnatural and immoral urges.

The man in front of him looked hurt, and he was sleeping, or unconscious. He had blood soaking through a spot on his chest, and a full beard hiding most of his face, but the sight of it made Credence feel something swooping low in his stomach. Like when he went  two nights without dinner.

The longer he looked, the more he worried.

Dark eyes opened, and locked onto him, and he swallowed thickly.

“Shh-hh.” The man seemed to think he was going to shout, call for help, or otherwise react negatively.

“How badly are you hurt, sir?” Credence asked, unsure at how much blood loss indicated the severity of his injuries..

He was trespassing of course, but likely he didn’t realize that.

“Credence!”

The sharp sound of his name being called jolted him back to the present, from his thoughts, and the man in front of him grimaced.

“Oh no, it’s my sister… she must have been sent to look for me.”

They were _all_ his sisters technically, inside the boarding school, and they all had one mother, Mary Lou.

But none of that mattered. He needed to distract Modesty, she couldn’t see-

_“MA!”_

Too late.

Modesty’s scream rang through the orchard. Credence winced.

“Sorry, sorry,” he murmured, but the man looked entirely unconcerned. The cut and colour of his uniform was decidedly _not Confederate,_  but even so a smile played around the corner of his lips.

* * *

 

“Clean him up. He cannot be around the girls. He’s a wounded soldier, and until I decide what we’re going to do with him, he needs to be kept calm, and away from everyone else. Go on.”

Mary Lou shoved him out of the dining room, his arms full of bandages and clinging to a pitcher of water.

Credence gulped and hurried to do as he was told.

He stumbled into the room that the man had been helped into, put onto a rickety bed that his feet nearly dangled off of, and he was covered by a thin sheet, and was smiling over at Credence, definitely that time.

“Hello there. Are you to be my nurse?”

Credence almost dropped the water pitcher, but he nodded.“Yes sir.”

“Tell me, where exactly am I?”

Credence blinked, and started to prepare a wet rag to wash the man’s chest and clean his wounds, once he’d cut off the bloody shirt. He was more worried about taking off the man’s pants.

“Sir? This is a girls boarding school, north of the capital.”

“Yes, dear boy, I’ve gotten that from the sign on the front of the building. I mean what state.”

Credence stuttered, the kind manner of the man’s speech and the way he addressed him taking him a bit off guard even as he peeled back the halves of sweaty fabric from the man’s shirt,

“Virginia sir. The finest state in the Free States of the Confederacy.”

“Ah. I see. Thank you, son.”

The twang of the man’s accent seemingly came out of nowhere, but another shock of warmth slid down Credence’s spine, and his hand shook as he applied the dripping rag to the man’s heated skin.

“Are you in much pain, sir?”

“No. Not now that you’re here.”

Credence’s hand stilled, halfway through a stroke over the man’s chest,

“What do you mean?”

“You’re a sight for sore eyes.”

Credence felt his cheeks grow hot. He had long hair like the rest of the girls in the house, and he wore ill fitting and hand mended clothing, but he always thought he was no doubt obviously a boy. The man had acknowledged it also, so why was he saying such things?

“Sir, you must be mistaken. It must be my mother you find attractive.”

The man snorted, and his entire body shifted closer, under Credence’s hand. He was forced to back up lest one of the man’s arms brush against his side.

“I think not, my boy. Your _mother_ looks as if she’s constantly sucking on a lemon. It’s a most distasteful image. You however, would look lovely sucking on just about anything, I suspect.”

Credence reared back, but a strong hand curled around his wrist, trapping him. The man was eyeing up and down the length of his body.

“How old are you?”

“Fifteen, sir.”

“God’s sake. You’re too young to be tending to an old man like me.”

There were flecks of silver in the man’s hair and down to his beard, even on his chest. Credence gulped as he noticed, but they didn’t detract from his handsome looks. If anything, they made him more alluring.

Oh. Oh no.

Credence could feel his shame thickening beneath the fabric of his trousers.

The longer he stood pressed against the man, the worse it got, until he was wincing in pain, trying to pull away. For one heartstopping second, he thought the man wouldn’t let go of him, but he did, murmuring his apologies.

Credence finished bathing the man’s wound and dressed it with a bandage as quickly as possible. He fled as quickly as he could without being rude, not bothering to fully undress the man, retreating to his room. He climbed into his bed, safely beneath the sheets, then he could finally push down the stifling fabric of his trousers so he could take hold of his shame until it went away.

It did not.

He shuddered with the pleasurable conflicting feelings coursing through him. He recalled how it had felt to have the man’s hand on him, rough and firm.

Credence did not know why, but he wanted to be treated that way. Unless it was at his mother’s hand, pain from under his own belt. He stroked over his aching length slowly, torturously, and then gripped hard around the head, legs threatening to give out beneath him.

Barely a minute passed and he was trembling, his shame spilling forth, slicking his fingers with thick white cream. He turned onto his side, wiping his hand onto his sheets, putting his clean hand to his face, crying into it until he couldn’t breathe, from hiccuping sobs. He didn’t sleep much that night.

When would the devil let go of his soul?

When would he stop abusing himself, and never have his head turned by any of his school sisters?

 _Then_ at least he would feel a touch less guilt. If he could get like that from imagining one of _them_ touching him, or allowing him between their legs, to want to see shaking breasts.

But he didn’t.

When he was given the privilege to bathe, he washed himself and scrubbed hard over his skin, especially where the man had touched him. It burned and was raw and pink, but he didn’t care. The pain was a reminder.

He climbed into bed the next night and retrieved his wicked prized possession, a scrap of white lacy fabric that had been torn, and he’d been told to cast into the fire, for it was beyond repair. He had kept it, and secretly mended it, trying it on to find he _liked_ how it looked over his pale skin, and he felt almost right, whole, and true to himself wearing it. It was just a worn nightgown, and the lace trimmed the neckline and grazed the bottom of his knees.

He held it close, as he chose to sleep with naught else on, to savor the feel, the scrape and scratch of fabric over his skin.

It was rather like he imagined the man’s beard might feel, between his inner thighs.

Oh.

Why was he allowing himself to think of such things?

* * *

 

Three nights later, a sharp sound, a harsh knocking on his door woke him, and he realized it had to be very late, or very early, as the sun had not yet risen.

“Credence! Go check on the Union soldier!”

He shivered as he climbed out of bed, unsure what to put on, a robe, or simply redress himself. Ma had left, her footsteps retreating into the night. He hurried to light a lamp, before turning to his bed, rumpled sheets and all. A secret thrill ran through him as he considered an idea.

Before he could think better of it, he tugged on the nightgown and threw his robe around himself, tightly knotting the belt, and then shuffled to the far hallway to the guest room where the man was resting.

The beside table still had a half pitcher of fresh water, and a roll of clean bandages, so he got to work as quietly as possible, trying not to disturb the man. He managed to take off the blood soaked old ones, and was pleased to find the wound knitted, and no longer bleeding freely. Credence wrapped it fresh, and was just tucking the sheet back over the man when he noticed how... pink his lips were. His heart nearly thundered in his ears as he lowered himself in, so close that he thought he could count the freckles on the man’s cheeks, before he closed his eyes, and pressed his mouth to the man’s.

One, two, three seconds.

He started to pull away, and he felt the man’s lips following, chasing him, and his heart stopped, as his eyes snapped open, finding the man watching him, no longer asleep.

“Oh God… forgive me, sir… I didn’t mean to…”

“Is that lace?”

Credence froze, and he realized from that angle, the man could see down his robe, and he was exposed. To his horror, he could feel his thighs become wet, his shame was hot, hard and dripping against his skin.

“N-no sir, I don’t know what you m-”

“You lovely creature. Forced to play pretend in this hell of a school. Come here.”

Strong arms wrapped around his waist, and forcibly pulled him onto the man, sprawling over his lap, and he felt something hard digging into his stomach, before he knew what it was.

The man was _hard_ too.

“Oh, fuck me. You barely weigh anything. Let’s see what you’re hiding.”

A hand moved down, skating over his side and dipping under the hem of the robe, finding the edge of the lace, the bottom of the nightgown, and Credence couldn’t move, couldn’t think, couldn’t even breathe, as fingers nudged up and wrapped around his shame, dragging a moan from his traitorous throat before he could press his lips together.

“Oh yes… does that feel good?”

The man was smiling, a wicked curve of his lips, and his other arm was lifting to grasp at Credence’s neck, pulling him down and close in for another forbidden kiss, as his hand between his legs started to stroke over him.

“I can’t… you _mmph-_ ”

Credence’s protests were halted by the press and nip of the man’s mouth and teeth on his lips. He squeezed his eyes shut, willing himself to wake up from the wicked dream.

That had to be what was happening.

No man would ever want him, or willingly touch him as the man was.

He seemed to be _aroused_ by Credence’s perversions, the way he was dressed, the wanton way he found his hips making little thrusts into the man’s palm, leaking against him, defiling him with his seed.

“Come for me. Go on.”

Credence whimpered at the brush of a calloused thumb over the end of his length, and his hands that had been gripping the bed at the man’s sides suddenly shifted to hold the strong shoulders, and he fell forward, resting his cheek against the man’s pillow, as he felt his body give in to the sin.

Spurts of his release painted over the man’s hand, which he then withdrew to stare at brazenly. He slid his wet fingers into his mouth, further shocking Credence when he hummed, acting almost as if he’d fingered an unbaked cake rather than this disgusting desecration.

“Can you get me out of here, my boy?”

The man’s voice was low, unhurried, but seemingly came out of nowhere. Credence felt as if he could not move, dared not, until his strength had returned.

“I don’t know. Why do you want to leave? You’re not healed yet.”

“I don’t trust these women. You’re the only other _man_ here. We’ve got to stick together, my boy.”

One of the man’s hands was petting over his back, somewhat soothingly, and Credence allowed himself a smile, faintly, “I will do anything I can to try and help you sir.”

“Are you very religious?”

“Yes.”

Credence was surprised at the rapid change in subject, but of course, they were in the wonderful state of Virginia, everyone who lived there was a God fearing American.

“Would you like to take your communion now?”

He sat up suddenly, and found the man’s eyes glittering in the moonlight,

“Sir?”

“Get on your knees.”

He carefully climbed off of the man’s lap, and moved to do so, eyes instantly shifting down to the bulge that he hadn’t almost forgotten about, as he’d been hiding it by sitting over the man.

“Sir?”

A hand stroked over his head, before sliding down to card through his hair, pushing him close, so that he could almost kiss the man’s thigh.

“Go on. Take me onto your tongue.”

Credence swallowed thickly and lifted shaky hands, understanding at once what the man was asking of him. He supposed that yes, it was a fair trade after what he’d been given.

Pulling the sheet down completely to reveal the man’s groin was almost a _religious_ experience, considering how the sight of it made his mouth water, though he didn’t know why.

The first press of his lips to the man’s length and he could taste salt, and dimly he wondered if it was how _he_ had been on the man’s tongue. The hand in his hair pushed him closer, and he opened his mouth automatically to accommodate the girth and the man’s length was halfway down his throat before he realized what had happened. Tears stung his eyes and he could hardly breathe, until he remembered his nose, and drew a great shuddering breath.

“Yes… good.”

He tried to swallow around the organ in his mouth, but could barely manage it.

“Sweet boy, you were made for this, don’t you know? I’m going to move you, relax and keep your teeth behind your lips.”

Credence did his best to obey, but he felt a few tears drip down his cheeks and the end of his nose, as saliva drooled onto the man’s skin, he wondered just how horrific of a sight he made, and if the man could possibly be enjoying himself. But the man’s length was hot and hard in his mouth, the salty taste more pronounced with every thrust of the man’s hips, and he could hear how labored his breathing was becoming, so he _knew_ he had to be doing something right.

“Are you ready my boy? For your salvation?”

The casual blasphemy should have shocked him, but considering where he was and what he was doing, he barely noticed it. He merely hummed in acquiescence and tried to suck harder, tried to keep his throat lax.

“Good.”

The man’s organ pulsed in his mouth, and he felt the hand drag him backwards, letting all but the tip slide out, so that the most of his spend was granted to his tongue. It was warm, slippery and bitter. He swallowed multiple times, but the taste did not leave, it lingered in his throat like sin in his bones.

The man’s hand gentled in his hair, and stroked it back from his face, before his thumb dragged over Credence’s bottom lip, and he let his mouth fall open, so that the man would know he had properly devoured his seed.

“You’re going to help me escape, and then I’m going to take such good care of you.”

“Yes sir.”

“Now run along. Get your rest.”

Credence nodded, wide eyed, and got to his feet, somewhat unsteadily, before carefully returning to his bed, and slipping under the sheets, not even bothering to discard his robe and nightgown. He moved onto his stomach and rubbed against the sheets, relishing the sensation of fabric helping him self abuse, again, after the benediction that was the man’s touch, and the man’s… _cock_ down his throat. He could be free now, be reborn anew, a creature of sin.

He shuddered through a second climax, spilling frantically into the worn silk and soaking the lace which had rucked up to his waist from his urgency of movement.

His hands moved up to his pillow, and he gripped it tight as he continued to thrust, torturing himself with all the times he wanted to feel, to touch, to _be_ touched. He fell asleep on his stomach, his cheek pressed hard into the soft fabric of his pillow.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> p.s. spot the made up word. yeah. zero chill here.

Graves had originally found himself in the middle of nowhere, memories hazy, and his head pounding. The spells binding him and keeping him imprisoned in his own home had shattered, and his magic had taken him as far away as it deemed necessary for him to heal. That meant somehow, Grindelwald had been caught, and he’d been attacked enough to lose his hold on his own magic.

Graves had been freed.

Only to find himself stumbling into a different kind of prison entirely. A school full of girls who looked as if they’d never had a decent meal, or perhaps that was just the wisp of a boy who was sent to tend to him.

The boy who’d found him in the first place, but not wished to give away his position.

Damn the girl who’d come looking for his rescuer.

Then, oh then how the boy had proven to be a most intriguing wonder, coming to him in the dead of night every other evening, cleaning and redressing his wounds, before finally, daringly placing the gentlest of kisses to his mouth.

A sweet gesture that rapidly become heated, and the sight of such delicate lace over the boy’s pale skin had fed something dark, and thought long dead inside of him. A need to possess, to claim, to _own_ . He would be freed again, for good, wand or not, and he _would_ take the boy with him. Far from the horrible place he was kept. He could be clad in the purest silks and finest satins if he wished it. The gorgeous thing could be a very promising pet.

Graves had never had a whore take his cock so willingly, and the boy had hardly known what he was doing, yet something about untarnished innocence had only aroused him more. That was very unlike him. Perhaps some of Grindelwald’s evil had rubbed off on him, and with his determination for revenge he also knew that he needed a fucking vacation, very badly. The boy would be a delightful companion.

When he next saw the boy, he was looking far from flushed and eager, cowed almost, and when the boy turned to prepare a washcloth, he started at the sight of red seeping through the fabric covering his back and shoulders.

“Who did this? Who hurt you?”

“What? Oh, that’s nothing. Please, listen to me.”

The boy waited to finish his urgent news, until he was standing right beside Graves, and leaning over him,

“My mother is very worried. She is concerned you mean to kill the girls. Or worse, deflower them while they sleep. She will not let you leave. Ma thinks of herself as judge, jury and executioner.  She'll _kill you_ if she gets the chance.”

“Sweet boy. The only one I ever wanted was you. She has nothing to back up these fears. She’s simply… insane. Come to me after midnight, and we will flee.”

Apparating without a wand was very dangerous business, but Graves was just desperate enough to try it, and he saw the boy’s eyes widen before he nodded hastily, and finished his work.

Graves’ injury was more than well on its way to healing over, and a proper spell or potion would do the trick and finish the job, once he was safely inside his own home.

He was very shocked when the woman herself, Mary Lou, as he’d been told by the boy, who, to his shame, he did _not_ know the name of, came to him that afternoon, smiling and simpering, inviting him to join herself and the girls for dinner.

 _‘If he could walk,’_ that was.

“Of course. I’d be honored ma’am.”

Graves didn’t play up his limp, but he _did_ make note of exactly where the dining room was in regards to his room, and the door, and the hallway that could lead to the boy’s room.

He didn’t trust any of the girls scattered around the table as far as he could toss them. The food seemed harmless enough, and he trusted his magic to keep him safe, as much as it could, from pathetic no-maj attempts of poisoning or drugging.

The entire meal was uneventful, until a small blond girl came over to serve him a slice of what smelled like apple pie, perhaps a bit more burnt than it should have been, and a searing flash of white took over his vision, before vanishing like it had never happened.

That, he took as a warning.

A gentle dollop of whipped cream atop the pie could not disguise the fact that the girls around him and the woman across from him were out to kill him.

The boy had been right.

He smiled, and then reached down for his fork, to spear a bite onto it, and then held it over to the girl beside him, angling his wrist to place it right in front of her mouth,

“Tell me how it is. I’m allergic to apples.”  
Blue eyes widened, and the girl clamped her lips, which had been previously parted in shock, closed at once.

His smile tightened.

“Something wrong, sweet thing?”

“I apologize sir. I did not know. If you don’t mind waiting, we can prepare you something with cherries perhaps?”

“No thank you. I have had a wonderful time, but I feel I must return to my bed. I am very tired.”

“Of course. You need your strength. Girls, help the man to his feet.”

“Thank you. I’m quite capable. I may need someone to change my bandages.”

Graves smiled at the woman again, and then began walking to his room, something dark at the corner of his eye, and he realized it was the boy, behind him in the hall, huddled against the wall, and he opened his mouth to say hello to him, before hearing a screeched,

“Look out!”

He lifted his arm just in time to deflect a blow from a fire poker, held in the hands of a redheaded girl, and when he twisted his wrist, forcing her to drop it, she screamed.

He didn’t think, he just ran, ran for the boy, scooped him up into his arms, flailing thin limbs and a mass of dark curls and all he could think was, _‘Take us home, somewhere safe.’_

He trusted his magic, and the next thing he knew, pressure was on his lungs, and his feet no longer felt solid ground beneath them.

 

Graves landed on the boy, unfortunately, but he rolled off to the side quickly enough, just in time to avoid the frantic coughing and resulting vomit as the poor boy lost his dinner onto the carpet.

“Fuck. Sorry about that. Side along… um. Well. at least we’re out of there.”

Graves got to his feet shakily, and took a look around his brownstone. It seemed the same, cold and dark, though with his reappearance, the wards had hummed and lit the fireplace for him, providing some much needed warmth and light.

He reached out and tried to summon his wand, feeling the wood smack into his palm, and the heat curling in his veins as his magic sung back to him, twofold.

“Excellent.”

He waved it over the boy’s trembling form, cleaning the floor beneath him and charming his clothing to be warm and dry, just in case.

“Sir… where are we?”

He knelt down in front of the boy, who was just beginning to sit up and take in his new surroundings, putting a hand to his soft cheek, damp with tears.

“You are now in my care. My home, is yours. Welcome to New York.”

The boy’s eyes widened, and his mouth opened, but no sound came out, only a heart wrenching sob.

“Shh-hh, now, now, none of that, sweet boy. What’s your name? I’m Percival Graves.”

“Credence… sir. I have no last name. I was not worthy, not like the ladies.”

“Psh. Bullshit. But… that’s quite all right. You’re welcome to use mine. You’re an orphan I take it? That vile woman wasn’t actually your mother?”

Credence shook his head, dark waves swaying gently with the movement, spilling over one shoulder, as he hugged his arms tighter around his knees.

Graves blinked as he realized the boy was clad in that ragged lacy nightgown, and looked rather, becoming, in just the firelight, and still a bit gripped by fear and uncertainty. He wanted to rip it right off him and fuck him against the back of the couch.

He shook himself, and stood up, reaching out a hand to help the boy do the same.

“Yes, sir. I mean, no sir. I mean, she wasn’t my real mother. My real mother was a freak of nature, an abomination. A witch… sir.” his voice dropped into a whisper at the last word, and Graves startled, mid-step on his way to guide the boy to a guest room.

Though he refrained from yawning, clearly he hadn’t slept well since their last encounter at the school, and Graves felt more than a little guilty.

“That’s a shame. You see, we didn’t travel by normal means, Credence. I _used_ magic myself.”

The boy turned to him, shock overtaking his fearful expression,

“Sir?”

“I’m a wizard, you see.”

He held out his wand, and transfigured the boy’s nightgown into a slip of black silk, with similar white lace trimmings.

Mainly for his own self indulgence, but the quiet gasp that escaped Credence told him that his efforts were appreciated.

“Sir! I cannot possibly remain in this… it’s indecent.”

The boy was correct, in a way.

Graves grasped one of the boy’s bony shoulders, and then gently stroked his hand down the length of his arm, watching how Credence’s body reacted to his touch,

“Oh, yes, I think you can. Now, this can be your room if you like. If you decide you need anything, anything at all, come find me. I’m two doors down.”

He leaned in to kiss those plush lips, and pulled back at the last second, diverting his efforts to peck the boy’s forehead, and then withdrew.

He had many letters and floo calls to make.

Though he did allow himself to stare a moment as the boy walked into the bedroom, and crawled onto the soft blankets, long pale legs visible under the shorter hem of the slip.

* * *

Credence could only lay down, and sleep, as the man, Mister Graves, strong, powerful, dangerous, Mister Graves had told him to do. So he closed his eyes, and he dreamed of many wonderful things. He felt ghostly touches over his skin, the kissing of lips and wet drag of a tongue over him, atop the soft silk of the nightgown he’d escaped with the man in. He felt his shame hard between his legs, aching to be touched, to be given the same attention as he’d done to the man, with a careful kiss and then a slow suck, he would have died for the pleasure of spilling down the man’s throat.

He writhed on the blankets, and revelled in the sins of his dreams, the images flickering behind his eyes surely from the darkest and deepest pit of his filthy soul. Warmth flooded his body, and his hand found his cock, pressing hard and heavy over his length, stroking mindlessly through the silk, wetting it with his arousal, until he could hold back no longer, and he let his release overtake him, pleasure singing over his skin, washing through his body.

He trembled and shivered, and his eyes snapped open, wakefulness claiming him the second he realized what was happening. The warmth under his hand was not from his fluid of climax, but his forgetful mind, his desperation abandoned in the name of getting to safety with the man of his dreams.

He’d wet himself, and it was still coming out.

He gripped tight over the head of his cock, but it was too late to stop. Liquid drenched the pretty black silk of his nightgown, ruining the sheets and blankets beneath him. Surely he would die from shame, from embarrassment, if the man found out what he’d done, in his _guest bed_ of all places. He was horrified, frozen in fear, as he tried to remain still, pulling his hand back from touching his cock, but the press of wet silk over his sensitive skin was too much, and he was getting _hard_ , and he didn’t know what to do. He could hardly get up, he’d drip across the floor and make more of a mess. He turned over, letting his despair and arousal continue, driving him to thrust his hips against the soaked sheets, rutting into his own filth to seek out his orgasm that way, until he was moaning and crying through it, spilling hot and thick over the ruined fabric of his nightgown.

Death would be a welcome blessing.

There was a knock on the door, and he only cried harder, burying his face into the pillow, faintly hoping he could suffocate himself before he had to face the man.

“Credence? My dear boy, what’s wrong?”

The soft padding of footsteps, and a strong hand glides down his neck, petting his nape, before the man must know, must see, must even _smell_ his vile wickedness.

“Oh dear. You had an accident.”

Credence’s shoulders were shaking, as the hand nudged him onto his back, forcing him to reveal the mess between his legs, the stains on the silk, and Mister Graves’ disapproving scowl.

Except… he wasn’t.

He was smiling.

Credence swallowed, afraid for another reason altogether,

“I’m so sorry sir. Please… make it quick.”

He turned his face to the side, exposing his neck, hoping that perhaps the man could strike him there, use his magic, and simply snuff the life from him.

But there was a gentle touch, a hand dragging down his neck, and chest, and the silk parted like it was being cut, as his skin was bared, he shivered, and the man never looked away.

There was a smear of his release still clinging to his stomach, and most of it had soaked into the black silk, but Credence saw the man’s eyes narrow, and he yanked at the scrap of fabric, fully exposing his body.

“You naughty thing. Wetting yourself like a child and getting off to it.”

Credence trembled,

“No sir! No, that’s not what happened.”

The man’s hand returned to his body, now gripping hard over his thigh, and pulling him forcibly down the bed, so that his legs dangled off, on either side of the man’s waist.

“I think you need to be punished.”

Credence could only gape at him,

“You aren’t going to kill me?”

Mister Graves’ heavy brow rose,

“What? Certainly not. I only mean to instill proper behavior in you, my boy.”

Credence let out a ragged sigh, which tapered off into a moan when the hand on his thigh lifted to rub over his softened cock, that gave a twitch of interest.

“Thank you sir.”

“I owe you my thanks, sweet thing. I will never harm you, with malice. I do find myself in need of a place to bury my cock, since you’ve disturbed me in the middle of my routine. Don’t you think that’s fair?”

Credence nodded before he realized the man was now fondling him below his cock, beyond his sack and someplace he’d _never_ touched himself. It was a sin, wrong, _sodomic_.

“Sir!”

A thick finger eased inside him, aided by a sudden wave of cool slick, and he knew that it must be magic. He could not produce such a thing himself.

“So tight, and hot. You’ll be so good for me won’t you, my boy?”

Credence nodded, keening high in his throat when he felt the man’s finger curling inside him, seemingly bent on torturing him with pleasure, and not a single touch to his cock.

When the man shifted closer, and reached down to palm his own groin, Credence couldn’t look away. Mister Graves’ fingers twirled, and his pants vanished, leaving him standing only in a dark navy robe, the sides of which hung open to expose his lean muscled form to Credence’s worshipful gaze.

He stroked over his cock, and Credence’s mouth went dry, as his eyes widened, the man leaned closer, withdrawing his hand from where he’d been touching _inside_ him, and then was pushing the tip of his cock against him.

“What… will you fit?”

He let out a squeak, and Mister Graves put both his hands on Credence’s sharp hipbones, before tugging him down, almost impaling him on the man’s cock. It hurt, it burned, the stretch was more than he was prepared for, but the wave of pleasure that crashed over him after he gave into it was overwhelming. His cock thickened against his stomach in a blinding heartbeat of a moment, and was then drooling over his skin.

“Yes, my boy. You were _made_ for this, for me. Go on, lay back, take my cock. Cry if you need to.”

Oh, he did.

Credence squeezed his eyes shut tight, and fought to relax, to allow the man to thrust inside him with more ease, but it was very difficult. The shockwaves of arousal that swept over him when the head of the man’s cock hit somewhere deep inside him were agonizing as well as welcomed.

His entire body felt as if it might burst into flames at the slightest touch, and when he felt the man leaning over him, pressing closer, and putting his lips to Credence’s, he cried out into the kiss, feeling the man’s hips snap tighter, and force himself deeper.

“You’re so lovely like this. But I want to see how flushed your pretty ass gets. Turn over for me.”

The sheets were sticky and damp under his back, and as the man pulled out of him, his muscles seemed to scream in response, and his hole fluttered at the sudden emptiness. He shakily sat up and moved to lay on his stomach, as the man commanded, and collapsed onto his arms, his cheek pressed against the middle of the bed, right where he’d been lying as he started to let go.

The bitter sharp scent of his urine overtook his senses, even before the man lined up to push his cock back inside Credence, and he bit the back of his wrist to distract himself, ignoring how his legs felt they might give out, had the man not been holding his waist firmly in his hands.

“Good boy, so tight. Do you like my cock fucking you deep?”

Credence didn’t know how to answer, so he just nodded.

“You don’t need to lie to me.”

He wasn’t prepared for the slap, but it still didn’t hurt nearly as much as the man’s cock almost splitting him in half, so he barely jumped.

Another smack, and he could feel his ass jiggling from the movement, before the man let out a groan, and his cock twitched at the sound, trapped against the damp sheets.

“I’m going to come. I want to fill you up. Hold still, my boy.”

Credence did his best to lay motionless, and breathed slow and deep, tears still dripping down his cheeks, as he felt the man’s cock pulsing inside of him. The pain was a dull ache now, coupled with his own renewed arousal. As Mister Graves finally moved back, withdrawing his softened, but still far too big cock from Credence’s hole, he could feel the man’s come spilling out, sliding down his thighs.

“Would you like to come?”

The man’s voice was right beside his ear, and he jumped, but nodded again.

“My boy, get up. Kneel for me.”

Credence scrambled to do so, keeping his eyes locked on the ground, at the man’s feet, and he felt his cheeks flush with shame at how hard he was, cock bobbing against his stomach, the head an angry purplish red.

“Look at me.”

Credence gulped, and lifted his gaze to the man, to find a hand caressing his cheek, thumb rubbing over his lips.

“You’re lovely, and you’ll be a wonderful companion for me. You see, with magic, there’s no need to fret about such things. All you have to do is clean up after yourself.”

“But I don’t have any power… sir?”

Credence was confused, and Mister Graves smiled, almost gently,

“I think you do. Why don’t you try and stop me… see what happens.”

“Stop what sir?”

The man gripped his jaw, tighter, forceful again, and put his other hand to his softened cock, guiding it to Credence’s mouth in a heartbeat,

“This.”

* * *

Graves didn’t know what to expect, frankly, he’d never done anything like it before, never wanted or needed to. But every inch of the boy’s soft pale skin demanded marking, and his pert little ass screamed to be slapped, whipped, turned pink and red and purple from bruising. The boy’s back was already scarred, but from his horrible excuse for a mother’s abuse. That would be mended easily enough, with some enchanted salve.

Also, his perfect mouth wrapped around his cock so easily, it was like he _wanted_ it. He nudged a little deeper inside the boy’s mouth, ignoring his confused wide eyes, and cocked a brow, before slowly letting out a bit of his piss.  

The boy blinked, and swallowed.

He didn’t make a sound, and didn’t move a muscle, just remained there, kneeling, and drinking down Graves’ cock, as he kept going, until there was a steady stream leaving his cock, flowing directly into the boy’s throat.

If he hadn’t just come, he’d likely have gotten half hard again immediately from the sight and feel of it. The boy himself was still hard, probably painfully so, and seemed to be fighting the urge to hump over Graves’ leg, to spill himself onto his calf and foot.

By the time he’d finished, he almost didn’t want to pull away, tempted to let the boy warm his cock until he was able to get hard, and then fuck his mouth.

But he had things to do, and the boy needed his release, and his rest.

He flicked a hand at the bed, cleaning it and vanishing the scraps of fabric that had been his old nightgown.

“You’ve been very, very good Credence. Get up and lay on your back.”

Credence carefully let his cock slip out of his mouth, and did as he was told. Graves ignored the little puddle of come that had leaked from his boy’s hole onto the floor, vanishing it without a thought, before striding forward and putting his hands on the boy’s hips, leaning in to kiss right over his heart, and down, putting his mouth over every inch of unmarked skin.

By the time his lips were hovering over the boy’s cock, he was trembling, little breathy gasps escaping his throat.

“Good boys get rewarded.”  
He licked up the side of the boy’s cock, and that was enough, his back arched and his thighs pressed together, as come dribbled out of the head, smearing over his stomach, and Graves murmured praises, mindless compliments. They pleased the boy, he could tell, by the way he rode through his aftershocks, yielding more come, and a full body shiver.

“Dear one. You are going to be so much fun to have around.”

He cleaned the boy up without a word, and tucked him into the bed, pressing a chaste kiss to his temple.

He conjured up another nightgown, made with red silk, from a stray blanket that had no use, and left it laying on the end of the bed, a nice surprise for his new pet, whenever he awoke.

* * *

  
  



End file.
